


Patrick the Bartender Is Not Paid Enough For This Shit

by Liannabob



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Between Episodes, F/M, Humor, M/M, Pragmatism, Season/Series 01, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liannabob/pseuds/Liannabob
Summary: Alternate title - "Throwing things off a balcony doesn't make them vanish."The story runs parallel to season 1 (sort of between-the-scenes) following Patrick the bartender and exploring what it might be like to work at Lux.





	Patrick the Bartender Is Not Paid Enough For This Shit

The first time Michael met Lucifer, it ended with a sexuality crises, a raise before he’d even gotten the job, and a change in name.

Los Angeles was, if you looked at it optimistically, a city of opportunities.   Michael’s parents – realists, if you asked them, and pessimists, if you asked Michael – were of the opinion that it was where dreams went to die a slow, drawn-out, painful death.   The odds of succeeding as an actor, they informed him, repeatedly, over the month or so it took for him to put together a portfolio and make arrangements to move, were so low that he’d’ve been better served by aspiring to be president, and to _please_ consider following a more realistic career path instead.

(This had been in 2014, mind you; when ‘anyone can be president’ was still said somewhat facetiously.)

The apartment he’d found was… well, what it was was affordable.  He’d be sharing it with two other people but he did, at least, have his own bedroom.   When he’d told his folks he was moving in with people he’d met online, he’d been told he was going to end up missing a kidney in a bathtub full of ice.

It perhaps wasn’t his smartest answer ever when he’d replied that the apartment didn’t have a tub.

On Day 1 in the city, he met with an agent, moved his two suitcases into a bedroom that smelled quite strongly of mold, and started a job hunt for something part-time to pay the bills until he achieved success.

The culture of LA being what it was, there were plenty of part-time jobs to choose from. 

“Something with tips,” Brian, one of his new roommates, had suggested after giving him an appraising once-over.  “You’ve got a good smile and a hot body.   You ever tended bar?”

“Not really,” Michael had replied, meaning ‘no, never.’

“Okay, well, there’s always listings for ‘no experience’.   It’s usually minimum wage but tips can go a long way, and since most bars are at peak hours at night, it’ll leave your day open to make auditions.  Lots of aspiring actors go that route.”

So, Michael had started looking for available bartending positions within a reasonable commuting distance. 

Lux was not a ‘no experience’ listing, but it had been within the commute radius.  _How hard could bartending be?_   He thought.

“Right then,” The club owner had said, not even glancing at the resume Michael had handed over, setting it flutteringly down on the bar behind him.  “Let’s have a look at you.”  He twirled a finger, a ‘give us a spin’ gesture.   Michael blinked, but, not wanting to make a fuss, obligingly turned in a circle.

The bartender loitering behind the bar leaned forward.  “Not bad,” She said, grinning with sharp, sharp teeth at him. 

“Um,” Michael said.   The bartender’s outfit was tight black leather with elaborately tooled designs.  It had to have been expensive.  He felt a flicker of worry at the potential cost if he had to buy something similar for himself.   The aesthetic at Lux was rich, decadent. 

“Oh, don’t mind Maze,” The owner said, waving a hand at the bartender.  “Shall we cut to the heart of it, then?  What is it you desire?”

“A job?” Michael asked, but it came out like a question.   This wasn’t quite how normal interviews typically went.  “There was a listing for a Friday through Sunday evening bartending position?”

“No, no,” The owner said, waving that away, like the whole ‘wanting a job’ thing was somehow incidental to interviewing for a job.  “What is it you _most_ desire?” 

The owner’s eyes were dark and his smile was wide.  There was something irresistibly compelling about him.  Michael had the oddest impulse to kiss that smiling mouth, and, later, he would freak out about the unprecedented appearance of thoughts about kissing another man.

“I really,” Michael swallowed, mouth dry, but that steady eye contact made it easy to continue and confess.  “I really, _really_ want to five-star ‘Through the Fire and the Flames’.  I got so close, but then that second bridge turns into a wall of skittles and I just can’t move my fingers that fast.”

The owner blinked.

“I’m sorry, what?”  He asked.

Michael shook his head, breaking the eye contact.  Why on earth had he said that?  He blushed, stammering an explanation.

“It’s a game.  Guitar Hero.  It came out like eight years ago, and I’m really good at it, but there’s this one track that’s just fucking punishingly difficult?”  He shrugged, self-conscious.  “I’ve been trying to beat it for years.  It’s not even popular anymore, but I just… keep going back?”

The owner and Maze exchanged a look.  

“Humans,” She shrugged, and that, oddly, seemed to suffice.  

The owner readjusted the cuffs of his suit.  He was, at least, smiling, seeming to be bemused by the babbling rather than judgmental.

“Well, it’s certainly seems harmless on the relative scale of things.  And who amongst us hasn’t wanted to get through fire and flames, hm?”  His grin widened.   “Lux,” He said, waving his hands to encompass the bar, “Is my home.  It’s a place for people to embrace their desires.  Just wanted to make a _quick_ check that you weren’t a serial killer or rapist or some such.  You’re not, are you?”

“No?”

“Good.  Mazikeen here has reliably informed me that we’re short-staffed, and that’s where you come in.  What was your name, again?”

“Michael,” Michael said, trying to process.

“Oh, no, no no no,” The owner said, disgust washing across his face. “No, that won’t do at all.  Have you an, oh, all you young actors have stage names, surely.  Or a middle name, perhaps.  ‘Michael’ simply won’t do.  What shall we call you?”

“Uhhhhhm… well, my middle name is Patrick?” 

“You’ve a regrettable tendency to turn statements into questions, Patrick, but I’m sure we can work on that.  Oh, how remiss of me.  Lucifer Morningstar,” He said, offering his hand.

Michael– Patrick, now, apparently, he thought, shook the hand.  He felt vaguely like he’d been hit with a two-by-four.

“Lucifer?” He asked, latching onto the strangest part of the sentence.

“Indeed.   Will that be a problem for you?  Working for the Devil?”

Patrick thought about previous jobs he had worked over the last ten years.  Cashiering at Wal-Mart and working in a Verizon call center stood out.

“I don’t think so,” He said slowly.  How much worse could it be?

“Excellent,” Lucifer said decisively.  “Give us another twirl?” 

Patrick turned another circle.   This was the weirdest job interview he’d ever had.  Was it just an LA thing?

“Yes, that will do quite nicely.  Maze, whatever we were going to pay him, let’s say 25% more than that.”

“It is a great ass,” Maze said in agreement.

“Thanks?”  Patrick said.

Lucifer made a ‘tsk’ sound of reprimand.  Patrick cleared his throat.  “Thanks,” He said, making it a statement.

Maze gave him a gleeful smirk.

“This one follows orders.  I like it.”

“Be gentle.  You broke the last two.  Patrick, Mazikeen, Mazikeen, Patrick,” Lucifer said, gesturing between them for introductions.

“Maze, I’ll be in the penthouse.  I left someone tied up and,” He glanced at his watch, considering, “It’s been just about long enough for her to be hoarse by now.”

“What?” Patrick said, a little frisson of alarm making its way up his spine.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lucifer dismissed.  “It’s entirely consensual, I assure you.  Now, Mazikeen here will show you the, heh, _figurative_ ropes.  At least to start with.   Stock is kept both in the back and the basement.  As a word of advice, I wouldn’t recommend trying to explore the prohibition tunnels too much – they’re terribly unstable, I’m afraid –and the doors open at 7.   If you’ll excuse me,” He said, clapping Patrick on the shoulder and making his way to the elevator before Patrick could articulate any of the many, many questions that he had.

 

~*~

 

The first shift was, by all accounts, pretty bad.

Mazikeen – who, Patrick was informed,  was not on “Maze” terms with him yet – was… not… perhaps… the _best_ instructor that Patrick had ever had.

Things got significantly easier once the rest of the club’s employees started trickling in and actually giving him pointers on how to do the job and work the register.  The uniform was more tasteful and discreet than he’d dared to hope for, going by what Mazikeen had been wearing.  Mazikeen, though, seemed to be an exception to most of the employee rules.

Patrick got introduced to someone who insisted they didn’t manage Lux, but definitely took managerial charge of the situation.  She seemed incredibly long-suffering when Patrick let her know that Lucifer had hired him and, no, he hadn’t filled out any new hire forms or documentation yet.

“I would have sworn paperwork was invented in Hell, but you’d think the man had never heard of it!”  She complained.   “Fill these out and get them back to me.  I’m Allison, by the way.  I’ll be dancing over by the staircase.”   Matter-of-factly, she slipped off the sundress she’d been wearing over an outfit made mostly out of strategically placed black straps.  The dress was tucked into a cubby under the bar, and off the not-a-manager-but-probably-a-manager went while Patrick blinked after her.

Patrick spent the next half hour filling in forms while the music pulsed and patrons started ordering drinks.  He kept half an eye on the other bartenders, trying to learn while he filled in the prompts for his address, social security number, contact information, schedule availability, and sexual fantasies.   That last question was followed by a bracketed disclaimer letting him know that, while full disclosure was encouraged, it wasn’t required.  Patrick’s pen hovered over the space for a good minute before deciding he’d be better off leaving it blank.   Glancing around the club and, bearing in mind that he was working for a guy named Lucifer, Patrick doubted that even his most creative kinks would come across as anything other than vanilla with this crowd.

That concluded, Patrick spent the rest of the shift surreptitiously googling how to make the various requested mixed drinks and fending off an increasingly drunk crowd of people who seemed intent on hitting on him.

“How’d it go?”  Brian asked when Patrick came stumbling home at just past 3 in the morning.   Patrick wasn’t clear on what Brian did, exactly, but at this hour of the night he was as perky as a caffeinated ten-year-old.

“Apparently my name is Patrick now,” Patrick said, kicking off his shoes and slumping over to the stained couch in the communal living room.

“Why is your name Patrick now?” Brian asked.

He shrugged.

“I got the part-time job at Lux.  Boss is Lucifer Morningstar.  Michael was an archangel, right?  It kinda makes sense.  Besides,” He added around a yawn, letting his head fall back with a ‘thud.’   It had been a very long day.  “Patrick could totally work for a stage name.”

If Brian had a reply to that, Patrick didn’t hear it, already nodding off to sleep on the gross, lumpy couch.

 

~*~

 

The months following fell into a bizarre sort of rhythm - calling his agent, following up on any auditions, swallowing the disappointment at the constant rejection, and working part-time evening shifts at Lux three nights a week.

The atmosphere at Lux was… heady.  It was rich with sensuality and, while Patrick had been braced by countless Reddit bartending horror stories for drunk asshole shenanigans and violence, that didn’t seem to happen with any sort of frequency at Lux.  Odd as it was, the crowd at Lux always seemed to be fairly well-behaved.  At least, for a given value of ‘behaved’ that included strangers getting drunk and basically stopping just shy of having actual sex on the dance floor. 

There was just something about Lucifer that seemed to lower people’s inhibitions.   The party-goers were always a little more openly amorous, a little more inclined to indulge and enjoy, after the boss played a set on the piano.

Patrick hadn’t been sure what to make of Lucifer the first time he got to witness the music live.  His knee-jerk response was unkind – that if the guy had had to buy a nightclub to accomplish this lounge-singer fantasy, he couldn’t possibly be any good at it.

Patrick could admit that he’d been wrong.

“You’re staring,” Mazikeen said, rubbing a lemon peel around the rim of the cocktail she was making.   She smirked at him knowingly. 

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the compulsion to watch Lucifer as he played, and got back to work.   There was almost always a rush of drink orders after Lucifer finished.  He decided to grab more citrus from the back.

 

~*~

 

Lucifer settled himself into a seat at the bar.  Patrick had been there long enough that pouring him a glass of the good scotch and sliding it over to him had become second nature.  Lucifer nodded a quick thanks and leaned back, settling in to watch the milieu.    

Above Lucifer’s open palm, a large silver coin rotated in mid-air.  Patrick watched as Lucifer flick, flick, flicked his thumb, and the motion somehow, without contact, made the coin spin.

Lucifer wasn’t doing it for an audience.  It was an absent-minded sort of tick, like drumming his fingers.  Patrick could just barely make out the faces of the coin – a goat-head on a pentagram, and Jesus on the cross – as it magically rotated.

 _Huh_ , he thought.

“How was work?” Brian asked that evening when he shambled home.

“I think my boss might actually be the Devil,” Patrick said, kicking off his shoes.

Brian snorted.  “Stick-up-his-ass taskmaster, huh?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.  He seems pretty chill, actually.  I mean I think he’s maybe literally Satan?”

“O…kay?”

“Tips were good tonight, though,” Patrick said.  “And I think Mazikeen may actually be starting to like me a bit.”

“We’re just skipping right past the Satan thing?”

“I mean, it’s still not worse than working in a call center,” He settled on pragmatically. 

 

~*~

 

Patrick still had no idea as to whether or not Mazikeen liked him or if she was just a hypersexual sociopath.  They’d hooked up in the back room several times at this point - which Patrick had no objections to at all - but there remained something just a bit unsettling about her smile and the way she sped through any prep work that involved knives. 

“Thank you, Patrick – you can go,” She said, and Patrick smiled ruefully from between her legs and stood to leave.  Lucifer gave him an entertained look on the way out.  Mazikeen and Lucifer continued their conversation, ignoring him as he wiped his mouth and went back to work. 

Talking him into oral sex in the pseudo-public setting behind the bar, and the claw-like grip she’d had on his hair when he’d been down there, and then the immediate dismissal – it made the ‘hypersexual sociopath’ theory seem more accurate.

It was perhaps a week later that Lucifer descended from the penthouse and wandered to the bar to ask him; “Now, where has Maze wandered off to?”

“She’s getting another case of whiskey from the basement.”   They burned through whiskey at Lux at a frankly alarming rate.  As near as Patrick could tell, Lucifer drank about half of every shipment by himself.

Lucifer nodded in acknowledgement.

“Tell my demon that I’ve gone to the precinct and not to wait up,” He said, smirking at some internal joke.   Patrick nodded, and away he went.

 _Huh.  Demon_ , Patrick thought.   _Well, that makes sense._

“Lucifer says he’s gone to the precinct and not to wait up,” Patrick dutifully reported when Maze returned carrying the crate of booze like it weighed nothing.  Demon strength, probably, he thought.

Maze set the crate down hard enough that the glass rattled.  She curled her lip in distaste. 

“I do not approve of this new obsession of his,” She spat.

“Is it about the shooting?  Man, I can’t believe Delilah’s dead.  Delilah!  Did you ever hear her ‘Consumer’ album?”

Mazikeen shot him a withering look.   Patrick got back to work.

 

~*~

 

When Patrick got into work to start prep for that evening, Mazikeen was in the middle of stripping an unconscious man’s clothes off in the middle of Lux’s dance floor.

“Um?” Patrick said.

Maze grunted a greeting at him, barely looking up.

“Hand me one of the trash bags,” She said.  Patrick grabbed one from behind the bar and handed it over.  Maze finished jerking the guy’s jeans and underwear off and dumped the whole ensemble, including shoes, into the bag.   She hefted the naked guy up as she stood, settling him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Maze looked at Patrick.  She rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t kill him.  He’ll be fine.”  She slapped the exposed ass, hard enough to leave a visible handprint on the guy’s pale buttcheek. 

“…cool?”

“Go ahead and dump that bag in the back.  I’m sure he’ll be back for his badge and wallet once he wakes up.”

“Badge?” Patrick asked.

“I’ve got some matchmaking to do.  The carbon tank for the seltzer needs to be changed.  I’ll be back in about an hour.”

Mazikeen sauntered out.  The naked man’s head banged on the door as she walked up the staircase and through the threshold.  Patrick winced in sympathy.

He took the trash bag full of clothes into the back.  Curiosity prickled at him and he looked inside, finding the wallet and badge easily.

The man had been Detective Daniel Espinoza, apparently.   With the LAPD.

Patrick felt a brief flicker of apprehension.  Did this constitute… what was it called, aiding and abetting?  Should he call someone?

Maze _did_ say that he’d be fine…

Patrick shrugged. 

He pulled out his phone and started looking up how to change CO2 tanks.

 

~*~

 

“This isn’t what I ordered,” Patrick heard for perhaps the fourth time that shift.   He looked from the dude’s scowl down to the drink that he was shoving back across the bar.

“You asked for a white Russian?” Patrick said.

“Yeah,” The guy snapped.  “And this is a _black_ Russian.”

“Well, that’s kinda racist,” Patrick quipped before he could think better of it.

Mazikeen smacked him so sharply across the back of his head that for a moment Patrick saw stars.

“Take a break,” The demon growled at him.  “And learn the damn drink orders!” 

She gave him a shove away from the bar and took over his spot, downing the apparently incorrectly colored Russian in two long swallows and pouring the correct drink instead.  Oh.  Added cream.  Got it.

Patrick retreated, rubbing his head. 

Through the back storage room, there was an exit into the alley beside Lux that employees used for smoke breaks.  While it wasn’t exactly _fresh_ air, it was still the destination Patrick picked to clear his head.

Exiting, he leaned against the exterior wall, exhaling heavily.  He could faintly hear the murmur of the crowd lined up at Lux’s front door around the corner and the occasional swish of distant traffic.

“Rough night?” Amusement was laced through Lucifer’s voice.   The club owner’s face was briefly lit from below as he drew on his cigarette, highlighting his dark eyes and beaky nose.   He, like Patrick, was lounged against the wall.

Patrick sighed. 

“Rough week,” He conceded.

Lucifer quirked an eyebrow at him indulgently.

“My agent’s barely returning my calls,” Patrick admitted and, once he started, the rest just poured out of him.  “I haven’t gotten a call-back in about a month.  My parents have dialed concern up to a passive aggressive masterpiece in the making, and I came home last night to find my two roommates fucking on the couch that I sometimes sleep on.  And I’m not even good at _this_ job,” He said, waving a hand back towards Lux.  “I mean, I probably… shouldn’t have said that… to you.”  He trailed off awkwardly, but Lucifer, thankfully, just looked entertained.

“There are an _awful_ lot of silly cocktails,” Lucifer said conciliatorily.  “Myself, I never saw the point in adding liquid obstruction to an end goal of getting drunk.”  And then, like he wasn’t leaning against the bar he owned, Lucifer pulled a silver flask from his breast pocket and took a long drink. 

His smile, when he offered the flask to Patrick, brought out the dimples at the corners of his mouth.  In the dim light of the alley, his teeth seemed very white and sharp.

What the hell, Patrick thought.  He accepted the offer and took a drink.  He barely managed not to cough at the strength of the liquor.  It figured that Lucifer would keep top-shelf single malt in a flask.   He passed it back, not missing Lucifer’s pleased, mischievous smirk at Patrick’s reaction.

“Were you not invited?” Lucifer asked.

“What?”

“To the sex.  On your couch.  Is that why you’re cross?”

“It’s just… I didn’t need to know that Chad had nipple piercings, you know?”  Patrick said, shaking his head.  He was never sleeping on that couch again.   It was a terrible habit, anyway; collapsing there after his shift instead of going to his real bed.  He _had_ a bedroom. 

“Oh, those can be quite fun!”  Lucifer said, obliviously.  “I’ve had a number of partners that had indulged and, dearie me, the piercings can be _so_ responsive.  It’s a pity I didn’t bring anything Hell-forged delicate enough to try it myself.” 

Lucifer looked into space wistfully.  Then, his whole countenance lit up as a thought occurred to him.

“Although I do seem to be having a bit of a vulnerability situation at the moment. Oh, I may just need to try that.”  He grinned at Patrick.  Patrick gave him a tentative smile back.  He had no idea what the hell Lucifer was talking about, but the Devil was clearly delighted.  Taking a last drag off his cigarette, Lucifer ground the stub out under his heel and turned to go back inside, eyes glittering with an irrepressible joie de vivre that Patrick kind of envied.

Pausing at the door, Lucifer gave Patrick another considering look.  

“A word of advice?  Learn the cocktails,” Lucifer said.  “If Maze catches you making mistakes… well, let’s say her patience with humans isn’t high on the best of days.”

Patrick decided not to mention what had brought him out here in the first place.   Lucifer disappeared back inside.

Patrick sighed and leaned more heavily back against the wall. 

 

~*~

 

Lucifer had a black eye.  

It was nearly closing time at Lux when Lucifer meandered in.   The club owner had been absent all night. 

He settled at the bar and, this close, Patrick thought he could smell… he wasn’t quite sure.  Smoke?  Like Lucifer had been standing by a campfire. 

Patrick poured and passed him a tumbler of his preferred whiskey.  Lucifer knocked it back in a few long swallows, like the glass had been an oversized shot.   Without comment, Patrick poured a refill.

“Do you want some ice?” Patrick asked.  Lucifer finally glanced up, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.  Lucifer hadn’t exchanged any greetings with the patrons of Lux when he’d come in.  Normally, he’d’ve made his rounds through the room, talking to his many acquaintances, flirting, charming the patrons, making deals.   Tonight, it had been a straight line from the door to the bar. 

“Why would I water down my drink?”  Lucifer asked, head cocked to the side in absent puzzlement.

“No, I mean, for your…?”  Patrick gestured at his own face.

Lucifer’s fingers drifted up to touch the bruised flesh circling his eye, like he’d just remembered it. 

“Not necessary.  It should heal in a bit.”  Lucifer ran his thumb along the swollen flesh, then he flicked his fingers dismissively and returned his hand to cradling his glass of whiskey.

Patrick was intensely curious.  Across Lux’s dance floor, he caught Allison’s eye.  She was also watching Lucifer, frowning, even while she kept dancing. 

Patrick was pretty sure that Allison also knew that Lucifer was actually Lucifer.  He suspected that most of the staff at Lux knew.  Lucifer really didn’t make much of an effort to hide it.

“Are you okay?” Patrick asked. 

“Oh, just some family drama,” Lucifer waved it off, but his expression remained contemplative and distant.

2 a.m. rolled around and last call was announced.   The crowd at Lux had already started to thin out and, after the flurry of revelers getting in one last legal drink, Patrick was occupied with the closing business of settling up tabs and fending off inebriated advances.

By the time the last of the stragglers were escorted out, nearly half an hour had passed, and Lucifer hadn’t moved from his seat.   The bottle of whiskey in front of him had noticeably decreased in contents.

“Do you need anything?  Before we head home?”  Patrick asked tentatively.

Lucifer stood from the bar and headed over to the piano, his long fingers collecting a passel of shot glasses and the bottle of whiskey to take with him.  He lined the glasses up on top of the Steinway with a determined air.

Patrick hesitated for another beat, but it didn’t look like Lucifer had heard him – or, if he had, that he didn’t intend to reply.  He ascended the staircase and headed out.

Exiting Lux, he nearly bumped into a blonde woman who had clearly been about to try to enter.

“We’re closed, ma’am,” Patrick said.

The woman tucked her flyaway hair behind her ear.

“Is Lucifer here?” She asked.

Something about her face rang a bell.  Or maybe it was the square-shouldered way she carried herself.   A stature that screamed ‘cop.’   This was the detective that Lucifer had been hanging out with.

Patrick paused.

Donald, one of the bouncers, had collected the stanchions and was heading inside to put them away.

“She can go on in.  She’s on the list,” Donald told him, nodding at the detective.

The detective turned to follow Donald inside.

“Um,” Patrick said, getting her attention.  She turned back to him. 

“Look,” Patrick said, “He’s having… a bad night.  Be nice to him,” He said. 

The detective’s eyebrows rose.   She gave Patrick a long, considering look.  She nodded slowly and went inside.

Patrick thought about the exchange the entire time he was driving home. 

Lucifer was a good boss, but he was also… well.  

He was the Devil.

But, Patrick supposed, entire songs had been written about having sympathy for him. 

He checked his mail when he got into his apartment.  Another email from his mother, asking him to come home if the acting thing wasn’t working out.  The acting thing _wasn’t_ working out, at all, but Patrick wasn’t ready to concede defeat yet, and didn’t think he’d want to move back to Indiana even if he did abandon the acting dream.

Family drama, he thought.  What on earth would that look like at Lucifer’s level?  A biblical scuffle that ended in a black eye and blacker mood?   That seemed so inconsequential. 

He pointedly ignored the sounds of Chad and Brian loudly fucking in Brian’s room, which unhappily shared a wall with Patrick’s room. 

Patrick crawled into bed.  He really needed to start saving some money and move out of this shithole.  The mold smell still hadn’t gone away. 

Maybe it was time to see if he could move to a full-time position at Lux.

 

~*~

 

Patrick learned the drink orders.  He waited for an evening when Lucifer was back to his normal cheer before plucking up the courage to ask. 

Lux was having a themed night tonight.  Candles had been lit and placed on most of the flat surfaces – an open fire hazard that Patrick couldn’t believe hadn’t caused disaster yet.  The air was perfumed with incense.  The dancers were wearing lingerie that revealed more than the normal strappy get-up and topped the look off with wimples, like pornographic Catholic nuns. 

For a nightclub that was normally secular, the blasphemy was salacious and, in a way, playful.  The crowd at Lux fed off the naughty thrill of it and the dance floor pulsed with people holding onto their inhibitions even less than usual.

Patrick spotted Lucifer at one of the booths and had to double-take when he saw his boss’s companion.  Suddenly, the theme made a bit more sense.

The priest was placidly seated next to the Devil, ignoring the drink on the table before him.  He had his eyes closed and was tapping his fingers along with the music, as serene as a fat cat in a sunbeam.

Lucifer’s eyes were lit with mischief, his grin wide and self-satisfied.

It took Patrick about two seconds to realize the theme night was for the priest’s benefit, and that Lucifer hadn’t realized yet how unruffled he was by the display.

Patrick turned around to head back to the bar. 

Maybe he’d ask tomorrow night instead, he thought.  Or maybe after last call.   Lucifer could sulk like a champion.  It wouldn’t be the right frame of mind to ask to move to full-time.

Mazikeen was scowling in Lucifer’s direction when Patrick finished weaving his way through the crowd and back to the bar.  She and Lucifer had been ignoring each other so pointedly they may as well have been outright fighting.  Patrick was glad he’d brushed up on mixing drinks.   He had a feeling he’d’ve been on the receiving end of quite a lot of abuse if he hadn’t. 

Mazikeen loaded a drink tray with candy colored cocktails, baring her teeth with visible annoyance.  She had a special hatred for people that ordered cosmopolitans, for no particular reason that Patrick had been able to discern.  She gathered the tray and came around the bar.   Normally, she’d hand the tray off to one of the wait staff circling Lux, but this particular bachelorette group had caught her attention.  Patrick almost pitied them.

He took drink orders while half of his attention followed Mazikeen’s progress.   Shots of Rumple Minze and various cocktails dispatched, Maze leaned across the table, the low neckline of her top doing not a thing to hide her spectacular cleavage.  Maze kissed the partying girl with filthy passion, pulling the girl’s bottom lip with her teeth as she withdrew.  Mazikeen smirked widely, satisfaction radiating off of her at the shocked and aroused look she was receiving.   The other girls at the table were visibly flustered and gaggled together to discuss with the kissed girl as soon as Maze started sauntering away.

Before she got to the bar, one of the male patrons that had been idling at the edge of the dance floor decided to act on a spectacularly bad idea and reached over to grab Mazikeen’s ass as she walked past. 

Hard.

Mazikeen stopped, and the idiot smirked and withdrew his hand just enough to then smack the grabbed cheek possessively. 

Mazikeen smiled beatifically. 

“Ohhh, no,” Patrick mumbled.  The drink he’d been pouring missed the glass and spilled down his fingers.  He turned the bottle upright.  Both he and the guy he was pouring a drink for turned to watch.

The club music was loud.  Lux was approaching capacity, and the accompanying noise of that many bodies meant that Patrick couldn’t hear what words were exchanged.

Mazikeen’s smile was mostly a baring of teeth as she leaned in, lips moving as she imparted whatever graphic threat Patrick was sure she was making.   

The drunk guy’s response was offended, aggressive, snide, as he pointed back at the girl Mazikeen had kissed.   Patrick could fill in the blanks and his regard for the asshole lowered even further.

The idiot reached for Maze again. 

Even though he was watching – even though he was _expecting_ it - Patrick could barely follow the blur of movement as Mazikeen whipped the drink tray she was carrying around and brought it down on the guy’s wrist.

The ‘snap’ of the bone breaking was lost in the din and the music.  The guy’s scream of pain wasn’t, though.  He crumpled to his knees, clutching his broken wrist with a look of pure disbelief on his face.

Mazikeen grabbed him by collar of his shirt and started dragging him out.  The dancing nuns and wait staff ushered people out of the way and offered scantily clad distractions, operating like a well-oiled machine to keep the party mood at Lux going. 

Patrick finished pouring the drinks.

“Does that happen a lot?” The guy he was serving asked.

Patrick shrugged.

“Mazikeen is a demon,” He said. 

“Fucking right?” The guy agreed easily and, drinks in hand, ambled back to his date.

Patrick had to admit that, now that he was in on the joke, it was pretty funny how the comments got dismissed.  He understood why Lucifer and Maze didn’t bother to lie about it.

A few hours into the shift, the priest left Lux.  Shortly after that, Lucifer left with a familiar blonde detective in tow.

Patrick didn’t see Lucifer come back until after last call.  He could tell from the look on Lucifer’s face that tonight really wasn’t the right night to ask to move to a full-time position.  Lucifer looked…

Well.

Patrick finished wiping down the bar.  He gave his tallied cash bag to Allison and headed home.

The sidewalk outside of Lux was well-lit, but it was still nearly three in the morning and Patrick always kept his attention on his surroundings while he walked back to his car.  He could only imagine how much worse his parent’s worrying would get if he had to admit to getting mugged.   Patrick was aware that the tips in his pocket made him a target.

He was so keenly keeping an eye on his surroundings that when a projectile hit the sidewalk in front of him, he damn near jumped out of his skin. 

The whatever-it-was clattered loudly, metallically, and had hit the sidewalk with enough force that the pavement chipped.

“What the hell?” Patrick stuttered, spinning around and looking for the source.  The street was empty. 

He picked up the projectile.  It was a heavy silver lighter, like the one Lucifer used.

Patrick looked up.   He had to squint but, yeah, it looked like Lucifer was standing on his balcony.

Had Lucifer been trying to hit him? 

Patrick pocketed the lighter warily and made his way back to his car.

“You okay?  You look spooked,” Brian greeted him when he finally arrived home.

Patrick closed and locked the front door behind him, sighing as the bolt slide into place.  Not that he really thought a locked door would do much if Lucifer was actually trying to kill him, but the false sense of security still made him feel better.

“There’s a chance that Lucifer tried to kill me?” Patrick said.

Brian tipped his head to the side and stared at him.

“I don’t know why you still work there,” Brian said.

Patrick pulled the stack of bills – his tips from the evening - out from his pocket and offered it as explanation.

“Ah,” Brian said, agreeing.  Patrick nodded.

 

~*~

 

The thing was, Patrick had no idea how to approach the topic. 

The following night, Lucifer had returned to his usual form and prowled Lux like a particularly horny social butterfly.  He barely glanced at Patrick the entire evening, flitting from table to table, charming and flattering and gleeful in the naked desire he received in return.

“You’re staring,” Mazikeen said directly into his ear.  She’d been on the other side of the room a moment ago.  Patrick couldn’t help but flinch in surprise, which just made the demon grin.

“No, I’m not,” He lied.

The grin spread wider.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Patrick said, latching onto the first change of topic that sprang to mind.  “There’s a crack in that top mirror.” He pointed over his shoulder, not quite brave enough to drop eye contact with Maze.  “Should we get it replaced?”

Mazikeen leaned forward, bracing her arms on either side of Patrick, palms on the bar, trapping him.   She bent close and licked his bottom lip.

She winked and drew back, hands trailing along his hips as she withdrew.   With a very blatant ‘come hither’ look over her shoulder, she left the bar and headed towards the employee break room.

Patrick dithered.  Sex, or being a good employee?  Sex, or being a good employee?

“Just a moment,” He told the bar patron waiting to be served.  Patrick waved down one of the servers.  She rolled her eyes but delivered her drinks to her table and started making her way over to the bar to back him up.

Patrick darted through the crowd and caught up to Maze.

She pulled him in through the breakroom door and pushed him back against it, reaching around him to lock it. 

Patrick reached for his belt.  Mazikeen was never patient when they hooked up.  The sex was wild and well worth the bruises.

He stopped, feeling the prick of a knife against his throat.  He followed the gleam of the curved blade down to Mazikeen’s sure grip, and trailed that gaze all the way back up to Mazikeen’s face.

“Why are you staring at Lucifer?” She asked sweetly, smiling with too many teeth.

Patrick swallowed, and the small motion of his Adam’s apple bobbing was enough of a shift for the blade to puncture skin.  He felt the little trickle of blood begin to wend down his throat, and panic firmly set in.

Mazikeen was a demon.  Lucifer was Lucifer.  If Patrick admitted that he thought Lucifer was trying to kill him, would Mazikeen take that as a go-ahead to act on it?

“I was going to ask him if I could go full-time!” He gasped.

Mazikeen blinked.

“Oh,” She said.   With a spinning flick, the knife was removed and sheathed at the small of her back.  She regarded him contemplatively.  “You should probably talk to Allison, then.  Lucifer tends to say ‘yes’ to things without thinking them through, or filing the appropriate paperwork.  Did you know Lux’s lease agreement is written in lipstick?  On a thong.”  She shook her head.  “I’m sure that one’s going to bite us sooner or later.”

Patrick’s heart was thudding so loudly that he barely followed what Mazikeen was saying.  He wiped away the thin, tickly trail of blood from his neck.

Maze’s eyes followed the gesture, and she smiled lasciviously, capturing his hand in hers and pulling his fingers to her mouth.   She sucked them clean.  And kept sucking.  She released the digits with a nip from her sharp teeth, not quite painful, not entirely playful either. 

“Um,” Patrick said.

“Where were we?” Maze purred.

It was such a bad idea.  This was SUCH a bad idea.

Fuck, but she was amazing at sex, though.

Patrick undid his belt. 

 

~*~

 

It wasn’t until several nights later that his and Allison’s shifts lined up.   Patrick fingered the heavy silver lighter in his pocket as he walked up to Lux.  Lucifer hadn’t made any other attempts on him.  For the most part, Lucifer completely ignored him.

Patrick still wasn’t sure what to make of it.

He liked working at Lux.  The atmosphere, the music, the insanity of working for the Devil and a demon… and certainly the money was good.  Over the last several months, Patrick had started really getting the hang of being a bartender and found himself genuinely looking forward to his shifts, despite the lingering possibility that his boss wanted him dead.

Whatever else was going on in his life, Lux was a constant.

He nodded a greeting to Donald as he walked up the front steps, through the lobby, and entered the nightclub.

Lux had been completely redesigned.

Patrick stared at the giant pictures of smiling black children hanging from the walls, emblazoned with ‘Support Haiti’ and ‘Dunlear Foundation.’   The space was brightly lit and completely stripped of its seductive ambiance.   It looked like an upscale reception hall for a charity fundraiser.

“What,” Patrick said blankly.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Allison said, catching sight of him and walking over.  She was wearing black slacks and a button-down rather than her strappy dancing get-up.   She was carrying a clipboard, which she waggled at him as she spoke.  “Lux is hosting a private event tonight.  Catering should be here to set up any minute now.  You’ll still be working the bar, but it’s open tonight, so I’d recommend putting your tip jar front and center.”

She crossed something off on the clipboard and strutted off, intent on whatever was next on her list.

“What?” Patrick repeated, but he was already shaking his head and moving to the bar to start his prep work. 

He’d assumed his normal spot behind the bar and was slicing limes when Lucifer wandered over.   The Devil beamed at him, self-satisfaction rolling off of him in waves.

Patrick poured him a scotch, which Lucifer took in hand with barely a glance as he settled into a barstool. 

“You’d barely know it’s a den of iniquity,” Lucifer said, waving his glass at Lux in an encompassing gesture.

“It’s certainly… different?” Patrick hazarded.   The silver lighter felt very heavy in his pocket.

“And impressive!”  Lucifer agreed.  A flicker of a scowl crossed his face.  “The detective didn’t seem to think so, but just look at it.”

Patrick looked at the tapestry-sized pictures of children.  The logo at the bottom looked vaguely familiar.

“I think my mom donates to that charity,” Patrick said.

“Does she get a thrill out of it?” Lucifer asked, eyebrows knit in curiosity.  “Granted the event hasn’t happened yet, but I’d’ve thought I’d get more of a kick out of this by now.  Maybe it’s a delayed thing.”

“What?”

Lucifer flicked his fingers impatiently.

“The rush,” Lucifer explained. “From doing good deeds.  You know –that feeling like if oxy and a space-heater had a baby?” 

“I guess?” Patrick said.  He sincerely doubted his mom an oxy-like high out of sending off a few dollars to build schools in Haiti, but Lucifer looked so enamored with the idea that he was loathe to puncture it.      

Lucifer opened his cigarette case and withdrew a cigarette.  He put it to his lips and started patting down his pockets.

“Blast.  Do you have a light?” Lucifer asked. 

Patrick’s heart skipped a beat. 

He knew. 

But, before Patrick could respond, Lucifer caught sight of the caterers walking through the front entrance.  He was up out of the bar stool and calling a greeting across to them, and the moment was broken.

Patrick’s heart hammered in his chest.  He wiped the counter and stared intently into space.   He bused Lucifer’s abandoned scotch glass when it became clear Lucifer was thoroughly occupied and wouldn’t be coming back for it any time soon.  He was on auto-pilot, his thoughts spinning.

“Are you okay?”  Allison asked as she wandered by, clipboard still in hand.

“Super,” Patrick said, giving her a thumbs up.   She gave him a commiserating look.

“I know, right?” She said.  She lowered the clipboard and sighed.  “I was really looking forward to dancing tonight.  But, what can you do?  That man is the Devil.”

Patrick nodded. 

Allison regarded him fully.  She’d thrown the comment out in an off-handed way, but there was a tension here that felt like she was trying to feel him out.

“Oh!” Patrick said, when he figured out what she was asking.  “Yeah, no, I know.  Have you seen that thing he does when he teleports across the room?  One second he’s at the bar, the next he’s on the other side of the dance floor?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Allison said, waving the clipboard in exasperated relief.  “Or the coin?” She said, “Or the eyes?”

“Coin, yes.  Eyes, no.  What about his eyes?”

“The red, flashy thing,” Allison said, wiggling her fingers at her own face.  Patrick shook his head.   Allison blew out a blustery breath.  “I’ve seen him do it a couple of times.  Usually when a drunk asshole starts getting too handsy with us,” She said, meaning the dancers at Lux. 

“I think he tried to kill me about a week ago,” Patrick found himself confessing.

Allison lowered the clipboard completely.

“Really?  What’d you do?”

“Nothing!” Patrick said.  “That’s just it – if it was on purpose, I have no idea what I did!”

“If it was on purpose?”

“He threw his lighter at me.  From the balcony.  It hit the sidewalk, like, an inch in front of me.”

Allison frowned.

“That sounds like he may have just chucked his lighter,” She said.  “Did you ask him?”

“No!” Patrick said, shaking his head incredulously.  “But get this, when he was just over here, he asked me if I _had a light_.”   He leaned towards Allison, eyebrows raised in suggestion.

“Yeah… because his lighter is missing,” Allison said slowly.  “Look, I’d just ask him.  The dude tends to wear his emotions on his sleeve.  If he were actually pissed at you, believe me, you’d know about it.”   She pointed her fingers towards her eyes again. 

Across the room, there was a clattering crash as one of the caterer’s chafing dishes fell from the banquet table being set up.  Allison glared in a skyward direction, growling in annoyance, and stomped off to deal with it.

Patrick moved his tip jar to the front of the bar and looked down at the pile of limes he’d segmented.   It was way too many limes for one evening.   He sighed.  Maybe he could push the donors toward mojitos?   He checked his supply of mint and rum.

The crowd started filtering in at a bit after 8 o’clock.  It was a very different group of people than the ones that normally visited Lux.  Absent the usual dance music, the murmured conversations created its own kind of background noise while Patrick worked.  The older women were flattered by his attention and agreeably tried the mojitos.  They commented on his smile and physique, and clucked over his tattoos.    It was a different kind of objectification than what he was used to, but definitely some of the easiest tips he’d earned.

The shindig was fully underway when a clearly-not-a-donor burst through Lux, looking battered and sweaty and crazed, yelling out Lucifer’s name with a desperation that was seriously attention-grabbing.  Patrick wondered why the bouncers hadn’t grabbed him, and then he got a good look at the man.

Patrick gaped, because he recognized the dude.  He’d seen him naked and slung over Maze’s shoulder.

The detective darted through the crowd and up to the elevator to Lucifer’s penthouse.

“What was that about?” The older woman he was serving muttered.

Patrick shrugged.

It wasn’t long after that that Mrs. Dunlear stepped up onto the podium that had been erected for the evening’s donor speeches. 

“Thank you all so much for your generosity,” She said.  “I would also like to thank our host, Mr. Morningstar.  He was going to say a few words, but unfortunately he’s-”

“Right on time,” Lucifer said, stepping up behind Mrs. Dunlear and plucking the microphone from her hands.  She looked completely shocked, staring at him like she’d seen a ghost.

“How are we all this evening, eh?” Lucifer continued.  “Such a well-preserved crowd.  Love your work, Dr. Broffman.  Tucking marvelous.”

Patrick snorted.  Yeah, some of the plastic surgery had been pretty obvious.

“Right, we’re all here to honor Tim Dunlear’s legacy, and what better way to do that than to reveal his killer?  Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Dunlear?”

 _Oh snap_ , Patrick thought.

He watched the events unfold.  The blonde detective had been in the crowd and confirmed the proof.  Lucifer did… something… to Mrs. Dunlear, and she spilled her greedy intentions and guilt to everyone listening.  Mrs. Dunlear was arrested, and Lucifer stood back and watched the whole thing like a cat that had gotten the canary.

The other detective – Espinoza? Patrick thought that was his name – came back downstairs after the police had finished escorting Mrs. Dunlear away.  The party-goers had mostly started filtering out as well, once it became clear that the tasty drama was over.   Detective Espinoza made his way over to Patrick.

“Any chance for a beer?  Lucifer doesn’t keep any upstairs.”

“We have a couple of IPAs.  Or, could I interest you in a mojito?  They’re the house specialty.”

The detective’s shirt had bloodstains on it.  He was sporting several bruises on his face.  He looked exhausted.   Patrick felt slightly guilty when the detective waved a resigned hand at him in a ‘sure, why not’ gesture, but he made the mojito anyway.  The lime pile was decreased, but still not gone.  He made the drink quite strong by way of apology.

The detective slumped into the barstool, sipping the mojito and staring into the middle ground.

“Are you okay?” Patrick asked.

The detective blinked back to himself, shaking his head – not in a ‘no’ so much as a gesture to shake off wandering thoughts.

“I was… Heh.  I was sure I was going to be too late.  I don’t like Lucifer,” The detective said.  “ _Man_ do I not like that guy, but still.”

He looked at Patrick, and his brow crinkled in thought.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like working for him,” The detective said.  He laughed, skeptically.  “Or _Maze_.  That has to be insane, right?”

Patrick shrugged.

“It’s one of the best jobs I’ve ever had,” He said, feeling oddly defensive. 

The detective’s eyebrows bounced in surprise.

“Even with his whole… devil shtick?”

Patrick frowned.  The other man took it for confusion, and elaborated.

“His whole insistence that he’s actually the Devil.”  The detective laughed, like it was absurd.  “Come on.  That’s gotta be kinda off-putting in a boss.”

“I’ve had plenty of completely human bosses that sucked balls,” Patrick said bluntly.  “Whether or not Lucifer is Lucifer, he’s way less of a tool than most people.”

Patrick set down his bar rag and, with a nominally polite nod to the detective, picked up his tip jar and walked away.

The party was well and truly dispersing, now, and other than that douchebag, no one had wandered up for a drink in nearly half an hour.

In the break room, he collated the loose bills into a foldable sum and pocketed it, putting the jar back on the supply shelf.  He figured he’d check in with Allison and call it a night.

He ran into her in the employee break room, slipping out of the ‘I’m a respectable staff member for this charity gala’ uniform and into a miniskirt and Henley combo that shouldn’t have worked as well as it did. 

“Crazy night, huh?” Allison said, zipping up her boots. 

“Frickin right?  I super didn't have her pegged as a murderer.”

She snorted.  “I was talking about Lucifer hosting a charity,” She clarified.  “First a priest, now this?  Never a dull night.  Hail Satan,” She said jokingly, throwing up the horns.

“Hail Satan,” Patrick agreed, grinning. 

“Have you talked to him yet?  About the lighter?”  She asked. 

Patrick shook his head.

“I haven’t found the right moment.”

Allison pursed her lips and regarded him.

“You’re kind of a chicken shit, aren’t you?”  She asked.

Patrick frowned.

“I mean… He’s not _not_ intimidating,” He said.

She rolled her eyes.

“Please.  Oh!”  She said, a thought occurring to her.  “You haven’t slept with him yet, have you?”

“No, and I’m not going to?” Patrick said, but Allison snorted.

“Well, give it time.  And I’m sure once you do, you’ll stop with this ‘he’s trying to kill me’ bullshit.”

“I’m not going to sleep with him,” Patrick insisted.

Allison fluffed her hair and collected her purse, making a disbelieving ‘mhm’ sound.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, assuming he doesn’t disembowel you and use your skull for a goblet.  Come in a little early if you’re able – we may still need to move furniture back to where it belongs.”

“Will do,” Patrick said.

After Allison left, Patrick sat in one of the remarkably comfortable breakroom chairs and took out his phone.  He’d give the crowd a bit of time to disperse, and then go talk to Lucifer.   Allison was right.  He should just get it over with.

After he beat a few more levels.  And after he pushed aside the mental images that Allison had put in his head – both the goblet thing, and the… other… thing. 

Lucifer did have a beautiful mouth.

He forcibly shook the thought aside.

When he’d deemed enough time to have passed, Patrick pocketed his phone and headed back out into the night club.

Lucifer was sat at the bar, idly playing with a very sharp-looking pocket knife.

He slashed it across his palm, bloodlessly, and frowned at it. 

Nope, Patrick thought.  Hard pass.  Not tonight.

He’d save the conversation for when Lucifer wasn’t looking at a knife like he was wondering if it worked. 

 

~*~

 

“You didn’t ask him, did you,” Allison stated, not a question, while he helped her move a booth back into place.   The dance floor had been rearranged for the charity event.  Thankfully, putting it all back in order was shaping up to be a relatively easy task.  

“The opportunity didn’t present itself?” He said, and Allison started making clucking chicken noises at him.

They set the booth down.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, too,” Patrick said. 

“Oh?”

They picked up the next booth and started walking it across the floor.

“I’d like to move to full-time, if that’s possible?”

“So, two big questions on that one,” Allison said.  “First – are you asking to make this your real job, with a firm schedule and no ducking-out-to-auditions in the middle of a shift?”

They set the booth down.  Patrick sighed.

“Yeah.  Yeah, that’s what I’m asking.”

Allison nodded and, thankfully, didn’t ask about Patrick’s acceptance of his failed acting career.

“Second,” She said.  “Just to be clear, you want to work more hours under a boss that you _know_ is the Devil and who you, because you’re a dumbass, _think_ might’ve tried to kill you?”

Patrick scowled.

“That lighter landed _inches_ in front of me,” Patrick said.  “Like maybe a stray gust of wind is the reason I didn’t get brained.”

They picked up the next piece of booth.

“So you want to work for him full-time?”  She asked incredulously.

“I mean… yeah?”  He said.  “I like living in California.  Indiana sucked.  I’m making good money just as a part-time employee.  Full-time and I think I can move out of my shitty, shitty group apartment.  So I think it’s worth it, yeah.”

They set the piece down.  Allison dusted her hands, surveying the floor.   Once they moved a few tables back into place, they’d be done.  

“I’ll get the paperwork together, then,” She said.  “And for fuck’s sake, talk to Lucifer.” 

“Talk to Lucifer about what?” Mazikeen asked.

Patrick hadn’t seen her arrive, but there she was, sprawled on the booth they’d just put back into place, drink lazily in hand.

The look she was giving Patrick was predatory.

“Nothing!” He said, far too quickly and far too loud.  Her eyes narrowed.

Allison snorted.

“He thinks Lucifer tried to kill him,” She said, moving past them both with a dismissive shake of her head.

“Really?” Mazikeen said mildly.  She set her drink down on the floor – the tables hadn’t been moved back yet – and stood in a smoothly fluid motion.

“Well that’s interesting,” Mazikeen said.  Patrick froze like a rabbit in headlights, just staring at Maze as she took the few steps forward necessary to get in his face.

She curled her fingers around the collar of his shirt and started marching him towards the elevator.

Patrick shot Allison a pleading ‘help me because I’m about to be murdered by a demon’ look, which she entirely ignored, the asshole.

Patrick stumbled up the steps, absolutely unable to shake Mazikeen’s grip on his shirt.  

Mazikeen shoved him into the elevator and reached inside to jab the button that would take him to the penthouse floor.  She braced her arms on either side of the elevator, smiling viciously at him, until the doors closed.

Patrick started sweating.

His hands trembled over the buttons that would stop the elevator at a different floor, but he knew, _knew_ , that Mazikeen would know if he did it and that it’d end up worse for him.

Or – maybe not worse, if she was sending him up here for Lucifer to finish murdering him.

The elevator doors opened before he made up his mind and Patrick jumped, startled.  The ascent hadn’t lasted _nearly_ long enough.

Lucifer was playing the piano.  It was something classical and vaguely melancholy – not the sort of thing that one would sing along to.  The Devil’s fingers competently plucked out long, descending cascades of notes.  

“Did you need something?” Lucifer asked, turning his head and letting his fingers gradually still.   He swiveled on the piano bench to regard him.

“Oh!  Um?  Uh… the posters!  The posters, from the charity?  With the children?   Was the Dunlear Foundation coming back for them, or…?”

Patrick trailed off.  Lucifer’s smile had grown more and more wolfish as he stuttered through the excuse. 

Lucifer stood from the bench and sauntered over.

“Now, now,” Lucifer said, low and teasing.  “That’s not what you really wanted, is it?”

The space between them shrank with each step Lucifer took forward, until Patrick’s back was pressed against the elevator door and Lucifer stood an arm’s length away.

Lucifer’s eyes were a dark, dark trap, and Patrick fell in.

Fear and adrenaline and lust all swirled together in his brain, and when Lucifer licked his lips suggestively, the thought came spilling out before Patrick could stop it. 

“I want you to suck my dick,” Patrick said, and then clapped a hand over his mouth, appalled. 

Lucifer looked delighted.

“Oh?” He said, a pleased little curl of sound.  “Well, why not.  You've caught me in a generous mood,” He purred, leaning close and delivering the growling syllables directly into Patrick’s ear.   Patrick shivered.

Lucifer gave Patrick’s neck a quick, biting kiss, and then dropped to his knees, right there in the middle of the floor.

Patrick yelped in shock.

This was happening far too fast.  He hadn’t even been thinking about sex five minutes ago.

Lucifer’s hands dipped up to Patrick’s belt, and every last ounce of Patrick’s common sense and protest fled as his blood relocated south.

Lucifer smiled up at him with pure seductive glee.  Patrick may’ve been on the fence about this but Lucifer sure as hell wasn’t. 

Clever fingers unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and then his cock was being cradled in Lucifer’s warm hands.

“Oh my G–”

“Don’t say it,” Lucifer warned, giving him a squeeze that veered just at the edge of pain.  Patrick whimpered and bit his tongue to keep the invective back.

Without fanfare, Lucifer licked his lips once, twice, getting them wet, and then licked a long stripe up the side of Patrick’s cock.  He followed the motion by pressing sloppy kisses along the shaft with his soft, full lips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Patrick growled.

Lucifer winked up at him, a cat with a canary, and took the head of Patrick’s cock into his mouth with a slow, hollow-cheeked suck.

“Oooooh, fuckin’ _whaat_ ,” Patrick babbled, and Lucifer chuckled with what sounded like genuine amusement around his mouthful. 

Lucifer tipped his head, slightly, and slid his mouth wetly down, down, down, until his lips circled the root of him.

The man apparently had _absolutely_ no gag reflex.  At _all_. 

Patrick clawed at the elevator door behind him.   The sound he made when Lucifer started swallowing was a high-pitched mewl that he’d be embarrassed about later, when he wasn’t getting the best blowjob of his life.

His hand found its way into Lucifer’s hair, soft and smooth despite the gel, and when Lucifer curled his tongue _just so_ , Patrick couldn’t help but tighten his grip.

Lucifer bobbed and swallowed on Patrick’s cock like a pornstar, moaning low, sending that rumble of vibration all the way through Patrick’s body.  Patrick was so aroused he was light-headed and he held onto Lucifer’s hair for dear life.

Lucifer’s hands came up to circle Patrick’s hips, pulling him in even more on every thrust down Lucifer’s throat, and Patrick lost all semblance of control.  He rocked his hips, hard, fucking Lucifer’s face, and could feel the Devil smiling around the onslaught.

It was unsustainable.  Lucifer’s mouth was too good – hot and wet and _greedy_.  One of Lucifer's hands left Patrick's waist and came up to cup and roll Patrick's balls, tugging in exactly the right way to send shocks of pleasure all through his system.

Patrick’s breath strangled on the warning he’d had _every intention_ of giving.  With one more stuttering buck of his hips, orgasm overtook him, and he was cumming down Lucifer’s throat.

The Devil didn’t seem put out by any of it; the hand he had on Patrick's waist pulling him in tightly as Lucifer swallowed him down.

It was easily one of the most overwhelming orgasms Patrick had ever had.

At length, spent, Patrick slumped against the elevator doors.  He winced when he pulled his hands back from Lucifer’s now wildly-disarrayed hair.  He’d been gripping so tightly that his fingers ached, but Lucifer gave no indication of discomfort. 

Lucifer slid off of Patrick’s cock with a lewd, loud ‘pop’.   His eyes danced with mischievous pleasure.

“Now then,” Lucifer said brightly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  His lips were obscenely plumped and shiny.  He looked up at Patrick.  “As far as the posters go, just bin them if they’re in the way.  Pretty sure the Dunlear Foundation isn’t coming back for them, what with the Dunlears either dead or imprisoned.”

Lucifer stood and bent to place a quick kiss to Patrick’s mouth.  Patrick could smell the sex on Lucifer's breath, and he groaned, dizzy and disbelieving at how good and unexpected that blowjob had been.

Lucifer gave Patrick's ass a playful smack and pressed the button for the elevator.   The doors opened behind Patrick and he nearly fell into the cabin.

“Back to work, you,” Lucifer said.   The doors slid shut on Lucifer's wink and sybaritic smirk.

Patrick tucked himself back into his pants with shaking fingers.

What the hell was his _life._

The elevator opened and Mazikeen was still _right there_ , arms braced on either sides of the door, like she hadn’t moved.

“Jesus Christ!” He yelped.

Maze's nose wrinkled.

“Wrong deity,” She said.   She eyed Patrick up and down with a knowing look, and then withdrew, heading back to the bar.

Patrick leaned against the back of the elevator and tried to get his heart rate under control.  He lingered long enough for the doors to start sliding shut again, and hastily smacked them back open.

“So?” Allison asked.  She was shifting what looked like the last of the tables back into place.  Like Maze, she gave him a knowing once-over.  “How was it?”

Patrick exhaled shakily, almost annoyed at how ridiculously good it had been.

“Amazing,” He admitted.  He rolled his eyes.  “Hail Satan.”

“Hail Satan,” Allison concurred, grinning widely and offering her fist for a bump.

 

~*~

 

It wasn't until later in the evening, once Lux was in full swing and Lucifer had appeared downstairs to woo and charm the party-goers, not a hair out of place, that Patrick realized he _still_ hadn't actually settled whether or not Lucifer had intentionally thrown the lighter at him.

 

~*~

 

The thought stayed with him – that a blowjob did not a statement of 'I wasn't trying to kill you' make.   From what Patrick had seen, sex was just something Lucifer did for fun.  Every night, he had different, beautiful people on his arm.   Every night, someone or multiple someones would follow him up to his penthouse.  The Devil was a big fan of pleasure without strings attached.

The blowjob Lucifer had given him had been fucking awe-inspiring, but it didn't actually quiet that nagging, persistent doubt at the back of Patrick's mind.

The problem was, the local collages were on break and Lux was crazy busy.   During his shifts, there wasn't ever really a lull when he could ask Lucifer about the lighter which _still_ rested, heavy and dented, in his pocket. 

He'd crossed that event horizon, at some point, where it'd be awkward to bring it up, now.   Too much time had passed for the question to come off as casual.

Lucifer played a set on the piano, crooning out Radiohead and Nina Simon with equal passion.  The crowd at Lux ate it up with a spoon.  

Patrick sighed, bracing for the rush as Lucifer plucked out the last powerful chords and let the piano fall silent. 

Maybe Patrick should just come by Lux in the morning?   Maybe that was the problem – there wasn't really time to talk when he was working.

Patrick firmed his jaw.   He was resolved.

He'd talk to Lucifer in the morning.   He'd just... confront him about the lighter, and Lucifer would reassure him that he _hadn't_ actually been aiming at Patrick, and Patrick could put the whole stupid thing to bed.

 

~*~

 

The following morning, Patrick stopped a few blocks down from Lux in order to stop and get a coffee first at a corner Starbucks.  

The full-time wages on top of the extra hours to pull in tips meant that _yes_ , he _would_ like an extra shot of espresso please, thank you very much.

A few more weeks on this salary and he was really going to look into moving out.  Chad had fucking _ruined_ the living room couch.

Patrick sipped on his slightly-too-hot coffee and started practicing what he was going to say as he walked the sidewalks leading up to Lux.

 _Hi Lucifer_ , he'd start.  Nice and casual.  _So, about a month ago, I think you tried to kill me by throwing a lighter -_

No.   Too blunt. 

 _Hi Lucifer_.  _First off, thank you for the beej.  I previously didn’t realize I was bi, so that was a fun bit of self-discovery.  Also, I know this is probably a_ big _misunderstanding, but the other day -_

A slim, metallic object zipped past Patrick's chest and landed with a raucous clatter on the sidewalk.  Patrick jumped so hard that burning coffee sloshed down his arms and chest.

“FUCK!”  He barked, dropping the cup and pulling the shirt away from his skin.

“Ow!”  He complained, flapping out his hands.  The coffee had gone _everywhere_. 

With a cold sort of foreboding, Patrick turned around to see what had landed behind him.

It was easy to spot, imbedded as it was in the sidewalk. 

Patrick looped a finger through the circle at the base of the knife's handle and, with a bit of effort, pulled it up.   It was... bronze? Copper?  He wasn't sure.  But it was definitely a throwing knife. 

He looked from it back up to Lux, then back to the dagger, then back up at Lux.   He could see, faintly, that the balcony doors on the penthouse were wide open.

Nope, he thought.  Nope.  Nope.  _Nope_.

Patrick turned and headed back home.

 

~*~

 

Patrick called Allison and told her he was sick. 

She sounded skeptical but did, at least, give him the night off with a minimal amount of grief for it.

 

~*~

 

When he called in the next night, too, Patrick got the distinct impression that Allison was aware he was full of shit.

“It's fine,” She said.  “I get the feeling the boss is going to shut it down early tonight.  He’s in a _mood_.”

Patrick winced.  He made his voice rough and fake-coughed before adding.

“Well, now I'm doubly sorry I can't make it in.”

“Uh-huh.   Get better.  You'd better be here tomorrow.”

It'd be the weekend.  Patrick really needed to figure out whether or not he was going to keep working for Lucifer before then, because if he wasn't going to quit, being a bartender that took the weekends off would probably get him fired anyway.

“Yeah, I'll.  Yeah.”  He settled on, noncommittally.

Allison made a grunt of acknowledgment and disconnected the call.

Patrick sighed.  He slouched down in his seat at the apartment's kitchen table and buried his face in his hands.

“You're not going to work?” Brian asked, walking through and opening the fridge.  The rattle and clink of moving condiment bottles followed, and then the hiss of a beer can opening.   Brian moved from the kitchen into the living room, and Patrick stood up and followed him.

“I don't know,” Patrick admitted.  The living room seating choices were limited.  He sat on the used-to-be-his-nap-couch-but-was-now-the-sex-couch. 

“You got a gig?” Brian asked.

“No,” Patrick said.  “My agent stopped returning my calls like three months ago.”

Brian squinted at him. 

“You giving up on the acting thing, then?”

Patrick nodded.

“So... are you moving back home?”

“No,” Patrick said.  “No, I like it here.  I mean not _here_.  This place is disgusting.  But California-here.”

“Okay, cool.  So you're just done being a bartender, then?”

“No,” Patrick said morosely.  He propped his elbow on the arm of the couch and slouched into it. 

Brian had flipped the television over to a rerun of a decades-old football game.  He was one of _those_ people.

“You know how my boss is Lucifer?” Patrick volleyed out the topic.

“Yeah,” Brian said, attention on the game.

“And remember how a while ago I said I thought he'd maybe tried to kill me?”

Brian grunted.

“I think he might've tried again?   But with a knife this time?”

“Uh-huh,” Brian said, and then jerked his fist triumphantly at something that had happened on the screen.

Patrick leaned back against the headrest.

He frowned and pulled away from it, fingers coming up to touch the wet, sticky residue that had been left in his hair. 

“Oh, God, _gross_ , is this -?”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that,” Brian said, barely glancing over, not sounding _nearly_ remorseful enough. 

“Fucking gross!”  Patrick heaved himself off the couch and went to take a shower.

He _had_ to get out of this goddamn apartment.

Which meant going back to work.  With his skill level, Patrick knew he was making better money at Lux than he would anywhere else. 

And yeah, Lucifer was the Devil himself.  And yeah, Mazikeen was insane. 

And possibly one or both had apparently decided to make half-assed attempts on his life every now and again, maybe just for funsies.

Patrick scrubbed at his hair, hard.

It still wasn't worse than working in a call center.

In the shower, washing probably-Chad-possibly-Brian residue out of his hair, Patrick resolved himself to pack his shit and start looking for an apartment elsewhere that he could afford on his salary at Lux.

 

~*~

 

Lying in bed, poking around on his laptop looking at real estate listings, Patrick's phone chimed with an incoming message.

 _oh dip, check it out,_ Allison had texted and sent it with a Youtube link.

The video was titled “Lucifer vs. Street Preacher.”   It had been uploaded today.

Patrick played the video.

Lucifer, wearing a dark suit and a darker expression, walked through a group of protesters carrying signs stating 'The Devil Walks Among Us' and 'Satan Is Real,' which Patrick snorted at.

The recording looked to have been taken on someone's phone and it started mid-conversation.  One of the protesters had gotten right up in Lucifer's face to shout at him.

“I've seen you – I know what you really are!”  The man was saying.  And, although the look on Lucifer's face made it _very_ clear that he wasn't in a playful mood now, Patrick could easily picture Lucifer showing a street preacher a bit of Devil-proof on a typical day.  It definitely seemed like the sort of mischief he would enjoy. 

“What I am is annoyed,” Lucifer grumbled.  “Just let me go to my club and move along, please.” 

“I know these murders are your doing!”

 _That_ got a reaction.  Lucifer's already stormy expression darkened further, and he gave the preacher his full attention.

“I have no skeletons in my closet, which is more than I can say for you nasty little humans.”   He gave the preacher a contemptuous once-over.  “So come on, preacher man, enough about me, let's talk about _your_ dark and nasties, shall we?”  Even through the low-quality cell phone video, the intensity of Lucifer's dark eyes sent a shiver through Patrick.

The preacher clutched his bible to the side of his head, trembling.

“I must throw you into a lake of sulfur and fire,” He said.    Oh, Patrick had a _bad_ feeling about where this was going to go.

“Oh, so you want to destroy me?   Well, get in line.”

“Yes.  I wish...”

“Yes?”

“...that I never met you,” The preacher finished.   Lucifer drew back, scoffing.

“It's like some kind of collective amnesia.   I mean, I walk around this city of yours, solving its _filthy_ little crimes, and this is the thanks I get?”  He seemed palpably frustrated.

“You're a murderer. A murderer!”  The preacher said, not hearing a word of what Lucifer was saying.

And, then, against all common sense, he threw a swing at Lucifer.

Lucifer blocked the blow easily, and then darted forward, grabbing the preacher's throat in one hand.

“Stop blaming me!”  He growled.   He walked them forward until the preacher's back hit a lamp-pole, and then kept pushing, dragging the preacher upwards by his throat.  “I should destroy you,” Lucifer snarled.

“Hey, put him down!”

The porn-stached newcomer flashed a badge and started shuffling Lucifer away from the preacher.  The preacher glared balefully at them both.

The preacher turned to the crowd of protesters.  In the background, the cop walked away with Lucifer.

“That man is the Devil himself!  The Devil!”  The preacher shouted, and the protesters cheered and chanted.

The video ended.

Patrick texted Allison back:  _well damn_

Allison: _he closed Lux tonight, but fyi the religious crazies may be out tomorrow_

Patrick:  _awesome_

Patrick set his phone down, sighing. 

From the stories some of the more senior staff told, it wouldn't be the first time a religious nut had tried to have a go at Lucifer. 

Actually, thinking about it, it kind of happened way less than Patrick would've expected.  But maybe that was just LA.   If Lucifer had tried to be himself back home in Indiana, Patrick could imagine he'd've gotten quite a lot more attention.

He went back to scrolling through apartment listings.

 

~*~

 

“Hey Patrick, I know it's getting kind of late, but the police are at Lux and want to interview any keyholders.”

“I'm sorry, what?” Patrick asked. 

“If you can come by tonight, that'd be great.  Otherwise, I think they'll want you to come by the precinct tomorrow to make a statement.”

Patrick squinted at his phone.   Allison didn't _sound_ like she was joking.

“I've had a key for like four days,” He said.  It had been part of the 'hey you're a full-time employee now' bundle.

“Yeah,” Allison agreed.  “I know, it's kinda bullshit.  If you're still sick, I'll just -”

“No, it's fine.  I don't even know where the precinct is.  I'll be there in, like, twenty minutes.”

They said their goodbyes and Patrick hung up, rubbing a hand over his face.

It wasn't even that late, really.  He still would have been working if he'd been on his shift tonight - and if Lux had been open.

Patrick got dressed and made his way to the nightclub.

Allison and Donald were both out front, smoking and huddled in conversation.

Patrick eyed them, and then the blinking black-and-whites parked outside of Lux. 

“The hell happened?” Patrick asked, ambling up.

“They’re looking for Lucifer,” Donald said.  “They think he killed someone.”

Patrick shot Allison a look, and she scowled at him.

“He didn’t do it,” Allison said. 

“No shit,” Donald agreed.  He rubbed his eyes.  “Boss is a lot of things.  I’ve seen him furiously angry before.  Thought I was gonna have to pull him off somebody, once.  But he’s pretty unshakable on the ‘not killing humans’ thing.”

“Oh, you know?” Patrick asked.  At Donald’s raised eyebrow, Patrick elaborated.  “About him being Lucifer.”

Donald snorted.

“Yeah, man.  I mean, he’s not exactly hiding it, is he?  Other than a couple of the newest dancers, I don’t think anyone at Lux is in the dark about it.  Heh.  Get it?  Lux?  In the dark?”

Patrick didn’t get it.

“Why do they think Lucifer killed someone?” Patrick asked.

“Well, they found a body,” Allison said.  “And it gets worse – remember that video I sent you?”

“Yeah?”

“Excuse me,” A new voice broke in.   They turned and looked at a familiar blonde detective. 

“You’re Patrick?” She asked, pointing the end of her pen at him.  She had a notepad in her other hand, a gleaming LAPD badge clipped to her belt.

She looked immensely tired.

“Yeah?” Patrick asked.

“Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

When Patrick gave an agreeable nod, she gestured for him to follow her and walked them into the privacy of Lux’s lobby.

“I understand you have keys to Lux.  Is that correct?”

“Yeah, I got them recently,” Patrick said.

“How recently?”

“Just a few days ago.  I just started on a full-time schedule last week.”

“Can you tell me where you were this evening?”

“Just at home,” Patrick said. 

“You were scheduled to be working,” The detective stated.  It wasn’t a question, but the look she gave Patrick had him stumbling to defend himself.

“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling great, so I called in.”

“You seem to be feeling better now,” She observed.  Patrick fidgeted.  “Can anyone verify your story?”

“My roommate,” Patrick said, feeling relief flood through him.  It was an intimidating thing, being questioned by the police.

The detective made some notes on her pad.  She pulled out a photo from a folder she had tucked under her arm.

“Do you recognize this man?”

“Holy shit,” Patrick blurted.   He held a hand in front of him to block out the image.  “Is he dead?”

The detective gave him a look that seemed to imply ‘I just showed you a photo of a guy with a bullet hole in his forehead.  What do you think?’

Patrick lowered his hand enough to take another glimpse, and then brought it back up to block the view again.

“That’s the street preacher, right?  From the video?  Where he got up in Lucifer’s face?”

The detective slid the photo back into her folder.

“Had you seen him before or after that?”

“No,” Patrick said.  

She nodded.

“When was the last time you saw Lucifer?”

“Uhhh…a few days ago?  At work?”

“Are you aware of any secret passages within Lux?”

“Excuse me?”

She looked up from her note pad.

“Secret passages,” She repeated.  “Something that would let someone just… disappear.”

“There’s the prohibition tunnels in the basement,” He offered.

“Mhm.   Anything in or around the bar?”

“No?”

She tapped her fingers against her pen. 

“Do you have any idea where Lucifer would go if he didn’t want to be found?”

“Uhhh… I don’t know, maybe Hell?”

She gave him another long, slow look.

“Or a strip club?” He added. 

She handed him a business card.

“Thank you for your cooperation.   If you see Lucifer or can think of anything relevant, please contact me,” The detective said, and it was clearly a dismissal. 

Patrick bobbed his head in an incredibly awkward ‘bye’ sort of gesture, and exited back outside.

Donald and Allison were both still lingering by the street corner.

“Well fuck,” Patrick said.

“Right?” Allison agreed.  “You didn’t tell her about your stupid lighter thing, did you?”

“No.  Should I have?”

“No!”

“Lighter thing?” Donald asked.

Allison rolled her eyes.

“He thinks Lucifer threw a lighter off his balcony trying to kill him.”

“ _And_ a knife!”  Patrick shouted.  A couple of officers lingering by the entrance to Lux looked over, and Allison jabbed him in the ribs, hard.

“ _What_ knife?”  She hiss-whispered.

“Like a throwing knife.  I came by Lux a couple mornings ago to just fucking ask Lucifer if he’d thrown the lighter at me, and he threw a knife at me!”  He hissed back quietly.   The officers were out of ear-shot but were still giving them hard frowns at this point, and Patrick gave them a ‘nothing to see here’ smile that just made them frown harder.   Thankfully, it seemed like too much effort to walk over to them, and they turned away.

“What are you talking about?” Donald asked.

So, Patrick filled them both in.

“I dunno, man,” Donald said.  “If Lucifer were actually angry at you, you’d know it.  It wouldn’t be this ambiguous ‘object from the sky’ bullshit.”

“That’s what I said,” Allison said, raising her hands in exasperation.

“But it was a knife!”

“Yeah, well, you said it was a throwing knife, right?  Maybe he threw it out his balcony door by mistake.  And maybe he just threw the lighter because he was having a bad day.”

Patrick looked back and forth between them, disbelieving. 

“But for it to land right in front of me _twice_?  Come on.  That can’t be a coincidence.”

“Oh it totally could be,” Donald said.

“Yep,” Allison agreed.  “Who knows how often he throws stuff when you’re not there?”

“Unbelievable,” Patrick muttered. 

“Once this shit blows over,” She gestured at the cops.  “You fucking need to talk to him, okay?”

“‘When this blows over,’” Patrick parroted.   “‘It’ being his murder conviction?”

“Please,” Allison said.  “He’s not a murderer.  And even if he was, do you really see him as the type of guy to _shoot_ someone?  He’s frickin _Lucifer_.”

She had a point.

“Hail Satan,” He agreed with a sigh, and then yelped as she elbowed him again, hard.

“What was that for!” He protested.  It was an in-joke.  A ‘we work for the Devil and it’s bananas’ statement.

“Dude,” Donald said disapprovingly.  “Do you not watch the news?”

“No?” Patrick said, rubbing his side.

“Satanists killed a couple people last week,” Donald said.  “Sacrifices to Lucifer.  It’s why he’s been so pissed off lately.”

“I can’t even fucking imagine,” Allison agreed, shaking her head.   She took one more deep drag off her cigarette and then snubbed it under the heel of her boot.

She sighed.

“Go home,” She said.   “The cops have closed Lux as a crime scene.   I’ll call you when it re-opens.”

For now, it seemed, there was nothing else to be done.

So Patrick went home.

 

~*~

 

Patrick browsed through the news he’d missed.   He cringed, looking at the tabloid crime scene photos.   They looked like they’d been plucked straight out of a horror movie cliché of Satan worship.

He tried to imagine how Lucifer would have responded, knowing that this violence had been enacted in his name.

It grated against the mental picture he had of the guy.

Lucifer was…

Well, he was the Devil.

And Patrick was just a bartender at his nightclub, but still.  Night after night of watching Lucifer flirt and charm his club-goers, drinking and dancing and embracing pleasure with delighted abandon – it made an impression.   Night after night of hearing Lucifer sing - that inhuman draw that he had that could hush even the drunkest sorority bachelorette parties. 

He thought about the video with the street preacher, about how darkly unhappy Lucifer had been even before the preacher started accusing Lucifer of the murders.

 _Stop blaming me!_    Lucifer had said, angry and bleeding frustration. 

It didn’t match with the mental picture of someone who would enjoy… _this._    Patrick closed the tabs on his computer. 

He leaned back in his bed, idly turning the dented lighter over and over in his hands.

 

~*~

 

Allison:  _fuckin told you_

Patrick:  _?_

Allison:  _remember that cop with the mustache?_

Patrick:  _yeah_

She sent him a link to a news article.  “Officer Responsible for Multiple Homicides, Child Abduction” it read, and Patrick skimmed through the text. 

Allison: _Lux’ll be open tomorrow._

Patrick hesitated over his response only briefly.

Patrick:   _I’ll be there at 6._

 

~*~

 

There was no evidence of any recent crime.  No police tape or chalk outlines or bloodstains.  Patrick hadn’t been sure what he’d been expecting, but it was just Lux.

He went through the familiar routine of setting up his station.  He filled his ice bins and prepped garnishes.   He made note of low stock items.  He logged into the register and wrote down his count.

The tasks were starting to feel like second-nature, and it was satisfying to realize that he wasn’t just faking competence, anymore – he was actually competent.

The dancers started trickling in and getting changed.  The DJ adjusted the lights and filled the room with music.  The volume was reasonable now but Patrick knew it’d get louder once the place started filling up with people.

Patrick exchanged greetings with most of the staff.  The energy was somewhere between relieved and excited.  

“It’s good to be back,” Allison said, putting words to the feeling as she stopped at his station to grab a water bottle.   She adjusted her strappy black outfit, pushing her breasts more closely together, deepening her cleavage. 

“You know, it kinda is?” Patrick agreed.  He wiped down the bar.  The doors would be opening soon and there was an anticipatory vibe in the air as the employees braced for it.

“You’re going to talk to Lucifer if you see him tonight, right?   No more of this bullshit.”

Patrick nodded.

The lighter sat in his pocket.  The throwing knife he’d stored under the bar.  It was really kind of ridiculous how sharp it was.

The doors opened and the crowd poured in.

 

~*~

 

It was a busy, busy night.   The crowd had apparently missed Lux, too, and was making up for lost time.  Patrick made as many tips in the first three hours as he usually made over an entire shift.

The night progressed without any sign of Lucifer, though. 

Patrick answered question after question from disappointed party-goers asking after the Devil with a shrug and an “I don’t know.”

He glanced up from mixing a cocktail sometime after midnight and blinked in surprise at the Lucifer-lump sitting at the bar.  

Lucifer had his head propped in his chin and a morose, contemplative look on his face.  He hadn’t been there a moment ago when Patrick had turned around, but he had the posture of someone who had been sulkily nursing a drink for hours.   Just… sans any drink.

Patrick delivered the cocktail and quickly poured and passed over a glass of scotch.

Lucifer looked up and inclined the glass in a ‘thanks’ gesture before downing it.

Patrick poured him a refill.

“You haven’t been approached by anyone claiming to be my mother, have you?” Lucifer asked.

“No?”

Lucifer tsked.

“Still with the regrettable inflection, Patrick.”

“I mean – no,” Patrick rephrased, making it a statement instead of a question.  Lucifer’s lips quirked in faint amusement.

“It might not’ve been a woman, mind you.  Who knows what form she’s occupying?”   He grimaced.

“Ah?   No?  No, no one’s claimed to… be your mother,” Patrick said.   He was quite sure he’d’ve remembered that.

Lucifer sighed and rubbed a palm over his stubbled cheek.

Across the dance floor, Allison caught and held Patrick’s eye.

She gave him a very pointed stare and jerked her chin down at Lucifer.

Lucifer had his back to Allison and at whatever expression Patrick was wearing, he cocked his head and gave Patrick a questioning look.

Patrick flicked his rag into his hand and wiped down the bar, dithering. 

Allison tucked up her arms and mimed flapping them like chicken wings, mouthing ‘bawk bawk bawk’ noises at him while doing a little can-can kick.

Patrick choked. 

“Okay, fine, yes,” Patrick said, and Lucifer’s eyebrow rose higher.  “Did you try to kill me?”

Lucifer blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

Patrick fumbled the lighter out from his pocket.   He set it on the bar with a heavy ‘clink.’

Lucifer frowned at it.

“Is that mine?” He asked, picking it up with his long fingers.   “Why… do you have my lighter?”

The tone wasn’t accusatory so much as it was blankly confused.

Patrick retrieved the throwing knife and put it on the bar as well.

“You little kleptomaniac,” Lucifer said, still sounding befuddled instead of upset.   He squinted at the knife and made a grunt of recognition.  “That’s one of Maze’s knives.  I’m a little impressed.”  He gave Patrick a cheerful look.  “It takes balls to steal from her.   Well, until she finds out you stole from her, at any rate, and then I think said balls would probably be forfeit.”

“You – or, I don’t know, _someone_ – threw them off the balcony at me,” Patrick explained.  “And I just need to know, man – was it on purpose?  Was it just an, I don’t know, wrong place wrong time thing?  Because, fuck, you’re _you_ , and I’m just… me, and I don’t _think_ I’ve done anything to really piss you off?  So I just…?”  Patrick trailed off, swallowing, because Lucifer’s eyebrows had crept higher and higher through the diatribe.

“Can I get an appletini?” A very, very drunk woman slurred, pushing forward and leaning into the bar space between Patrick and Lucifer.

“Uh,” Patrick said, but Lucifer still looked like he was processing. Patrick mixed the drink and added it to the girl’s tab.

She nearly spilled it on Lucifer as she wobbled away.

Patrick nervously wiped down the bar again.  The lighter and the knife were both gone.  Patrick hadn’t seen Lucifer take them but had no doubts at all they were tucked about his person somewhere.

“You,” Lucifer said slowly, musingly.   “Are a strange, strange creature.”

Patrick’s hands stilled.

“Firstly, no.  No, I wasn’t trying to kill you.”  Lucifer took a sip of his scotch and, against his better intentions, Patrick’s eyes lingered on the moisture left on Lucifer’s lips.

Lucifer caught him at it and smirked knowingly.

“Secondly, the knife was Maze’s fault, and – no, she wasn’t trying to kill you either.   And third – why in Dad’s name would you keep coming back if you thought we were trying to kill you?”

It was, more or less, what Allison had asked him, too.

Patrick looked out at Lux.  He thought about how much his life had changed since moving out to California. 

He shrugged.

“I like it here,” He settled on.

Lucifer smiled, wide and pleased. 

He turned in the bar stool and, following Patrick’s gaze, looked out over the crowd.   

Lux’s leather, marble, and velvet interior gleamed under the buttery-yellow lights.   The people – young, drunk, undeniably having fun – danced and chatted and toed (and crossed) the line of indecent PDAs.   The atmosphere was a heady, sensual embrace. 

“I’m pretty fond of it, too,” The Devil agreed.

 

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> I have a deep, deep love of pragmatic characters, and in my heart of hearts, the employees at Lux know that Lucifer isn't human but let it slide. (I mean, really, Lucifer is pretty terrible about keeping that secret.) 
> 
> But! I wanna know what your thoughts are. What do you guys think Lux's employees think about working for Lucifer and Maze? Feel free to share any headcanons, because I'm honestly spending way too much time thinking about this already.


End file.
